


i've learned to lose you can't afford to

by brookethenerd



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Declarations Of Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:47:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22675825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brookethenerd/pseuds/brookethenerd
Summary: Love is scary. Steve helps the reader fear it a little less.
Relationships: Steve Harrington/Reader, Steve Harrington/You
Comments: 1
Kudos: 54





	i've learned to lose you can't afford to

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is total projection and self-indulgence that no one asked for buts! all my pessimists in love enjoy!

You don’t believe in love. And not ‘don’t believe’ as in _it’s not possible_ ; not as in _it’s a bullshit chemical reaction_ ; as in _you don’t trust it_. You don’t believe it lasts; that it even _can_ last.

You’ve never seen the Hollywood ending in real life, never seen anything but marriages crumble or partners stumble unhappily through the years. It’s hard to put your faith in something you aren’t even sure is possible - and if it is, surely not for you - but you want to. That’s the worst part: how badly you want to.

You’re on the edge of it, peering over the cliff into the misty depths below, too foggy to see. At the bottom, there might be someone to catch you. Or there might be jagged rocks. Or, more likely, someone to catch you, hold you, then drop you into the rocks with no warning. Either way, you won’t come out scot-free.

You want to take the leap, want it more than you’ve wanted anything, but you’re also more frightened of the inevitable demise than excited at the prospect of _finally_ finding something; finding _someone_.

You want to trust that Steve Harrington won’t take your heart and crush it in his hands, but you weren’t made that way. You wouldn’t even know where to begin.

You’re in his car, cruising through the dimly lit streets after work, the windows down, air ruffling your hair and sending a chill down to your bones. You don’t mind it; something about the wind reminds you you’re _alive_ , you’re _here_. Steve keeps sending looks your way, a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel as he drives, and you don’t have to be a mind reader to know what he’s thinking about; what he wants to talk about.

An almost kiss in the break room, an accident, a step too close to the edge of the cliff. An almost unbearably awkward silence that had followed you all the way to the car, tension hanging thick and looping around your throat like a noose.

He doesn’t break it until he pulls up to your house - dark at this time of night, your family long asleep - and turns to look at you.

“Look, I need you to know, I really li-”

“Don’t,” you snap, uncharacteristically harsh, fear springing to the surface. Don’t _say something that’ll only make this worse. Please, don’t._

“Why not?” He asks. You exhale slowly and meet his gaze, jaw tight, your pulse ringing in your ears.

“Because I know how this ends,” you say. “I know what happens.”

“What are you talking about?”

“This,” you say, gesturing between the two of you, “I don’t want to lose this. And if we…if you…” you can’t even bear to say the words, afraid of pushing him away, but at the same time, fearful of pulling him closer, “I just-I know what happens. I know these things don’t work out. And I can’t-” you stop, shaking your head, folding your arms tightly against your chest. “I just can’t.”

His brows furrow, pain flickering in his eyes - at least it isn’t pity, as you expected - and he clicks off his seatbelt, shifting across the bench but not pushing past the invisible barrier you’ve thrown up.

“How do you know?” He asks. “That it won’t work out?”

You shrug dismissively, jerking a chin toward your home, the broken people who came out of it - you, included.

“You’re not your parents,” he says.

“It’s not just my parents,” you say, meeting his gaze, grimacing. “It’s everyone I’ve ever known. Aunts, uncles, grandparents. I’ve watched people fall apart my entire life because they made the mistake of getting too close, and I just-I can’t.”

“What, so your plan is to, like, keep everyone at arm’s length for the rest of your life? Build yourself a nice little cage where no one can get to you?”

You avert your gaze; it doesn’t sound all that unpleasant. Not pleasant in any capacity, but safe.

“That’s no way to live,” he says. You lift your head, snapping your head in his direction.

“It’s safe.”

“It sounds lonely as hell,” he says. And it is. Living as an island is lonelier than you ever thought possible. “How is that better than the alternative?”

You give a mirthless laugh; empty words spoken by someone who’s parents still love each other, who didn’t grow up around the carnage love wreaked.

“I never said it was better.”

“Then, why?” His expression is open and genuinely curious, though his gaze is piercing. “Why not risk it?”

You let out a small breath, dragging your tongue across your dry lips. It’s a question you’ve asked yourself a million and one times. And each time you reach the conclusion that hiding behind solitude isn’t worth it, panic springs to life inside you, slapping away any hope of moving forward. Your fear of repeating history nails you in place.

It’s much harder to stay committed to it here, with Steve only a foot away across the bench seat, his aftershave and a hint of his cologne overpowering your senses. It would be so easy to give in, to break through the dam you’ve been ducked behind for years.

Sometimes, it’s harder to hold on than to let go.

Your next exhale is shaky, your limbs wobbly. When you speak, your voice is small and fractured. “ _Because I’m terrified.”_

Steve touches your leg lightly with a hand, drawing your attention back to his face. His expression is unguarded, sincere, almost painfully so.

“That’s the secret,” he says. “We’re all fucking terrified. We just do it anyway.”

“I don’t know how,” you admit, speaking the words for the first time.

Steve unblocks his seatbelt and shifts across the seat, close enough that his thigh brushes yours. He holds your gaze in a vice grip, but doesn’t make any more movements, like you’re a frightened animal he doesn’t want to scare off; perhaps, you are. An animal following an instinct to protect itself, misguided, willing to hurt any part of yourself so long as your heart stays protected.

You’re tired of fighting; you’re tired of being afraid, and doing it alone. You’d never considered that, perhaps, you could be afraid with someone else.

“Well,” Steve says, “you start by answering a question.”

“A question?”

He nods, lips twitching up into a half-smile.

“Do you like me?”

Your cheeks flush, distress unfolding in your gut, and the instinct to say no is almost too strong to push past, but you hold Steve’s gaze and force the honesty out of your mouth.

“Yes,” you say. He grins.

“Now, you ask me.”

You frown. “Seriously-”

“Hey, I’m the teacher, here,” he says, and to your infinite surprise, a nervous - but excited - laugh bubbles out of you. “Come on. Don’t leave me hanging, here.”

You swallow the bile clawing its way up your throat and take a deep breath.

“Steve.”

“Yes?”

“Do you…like me?”

“Why, yes, I do. What a coincidence.”

You can’t help but laugh again, and while it comes out a little too high and quick due to the nerves and adrenaline coursing through you, the sensation isn’t completely horrible. It’s scary, absolutely fucking terrifying, but it’s woven with hope and the promise of things beyond.

“And now, I ask you out. And, if you want to, you say yes,” he says. “Do you want to say yes?” He quirks a brow, though it’s clear he knows the answer; if he didn’t, this conversation wouldn’t be happening. You nod, cheeks hot, a tiny smile tugging on your lips.

“Now what?” You ask, voice low. Something indecipherable flickers in his eyes, and he lifts a hand, letting it settle against your cheek, his touch lighting your skin. Your heart kicks into speed, hammering hard against your chest, and though that desperate, scrabbling fear is screaming at you to _run_ , to _find somewhere safe_ , you yell back just as loud: _this is what I want_. _This is_ _who_ _I want._

“Now,” he murmurs, bending toward you, lips curled up in a tiny grin, gaze darting down to your mouth and bath up. “I ask to kiss you.”

“And what do I say?” You ask, tilting your chin up.

“Hopefully, yes,” he whispers, breath hot against your lips.

“Yes,” you say, and kiss him first. He stills beneath you, but reacts quickly, hands moving to your waist, drawing you closer. He parts his lips against yours, the touch of his tongue sending shockwaves down your spine. It’s like having your circuitry rewired all at once, teaching every nerve ending to recognize his touch.

Your hands find their way into his hair, gathering it in your fists, and he gasps into your mouth. You only pull away when your lungs start protesting for air, but you don’t move far, tipping your forehead against Steve’s, both catching your breath.

“Willing to risk it?” He murmurs, hands on your cheeks, thumbs caressing the line across your jawbones, making your stomach flip. You pause, closing your eyes, silencing the fear and doubt and insecurity swirling inside you, at least for the moment. It won’t go away, not entirely. But you’ll learn to live around it.

Your lips quirk up in a tiny smile, and you lift your chin, lightly bumping his nose with yours.

“Yes,” you say.

It might crash and burn; it might leave you broken and bleeding. But, then again, it might not. There’s no way to know but to take the path, regardless of what waits at the end.

Who knows. Maybe it isn’t all destined to burn. Maybe, just maybe, you and Steve will get it right.

And if you don’t, maybe that isn’t so bad. Maybe it’s better it to take the risk and fall than to never step forward at all.


End file.
